


Sherlock's grand plan

by Doctorwhogirl13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorwhogirl13/pseuds/Doctorwhogirl13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows he can't loose John. But what will he have to endure to keep his friend around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's grand plan

Breathless from running down the last couple blocks through the pouring rain, John fumbled with the flat’s keys in order to get where it was warm and dry. Getting the key in the lock was proving difficult through the laughter raking his body. From the adrenaline rush of the newly completed case, and his best friend standing next to him who apparently couldn’t stop laughing either.

“Sherlock, what is up with you?” John asked through his giggles. “I have never seen you this giddy over the end of a case before. Are you sure that was just water in that bottle?”

“Of course it was. Are you suggesting it is not acceptable for me to express some mirth after being successful in a case, and spending time with my friend?” Sherlock said, suddenly very serious.

John couldn’t help but take a long look at the detective standing next to him as the rain continued its assault. The white dress shirt and dark coloured trousers clung to his rather well toned body rather nicely and the shirt had the advantage of being slightly see through when wet.

Shaking off the thoughts that went through his head, John reminded himself that he and Sherlock were friends and flatmates and that was all. Nothing more. “No, I’m not suggesting anything, Sherlock.”

Finally able to engage his brain in the act of turning the lock on the door, it swung open to allow them inside.

Sherlock gestured to John to walk in front of him into the flat and then followed right behind. He had noticed the doctor’s eye movements as the roamed up and down his body. He still did not understand the concept of physical attraction, but he understood what made up the qualifications of an ideal mating partner. He had worked it out once and realized he possessed a lot of the usual ideals, but didn’t think much more about it. He had no intention of having any type of relationship and therefore his energy was best spent elsewhere than pondering over those types of thoughts.

But then John walked into his life and he began to reconsider the whole idea of writing off relationships entirely. He liked having John around, and knew he was the type of man that wanted to settle down with someone. He wouldn’t be content with remaining a bachelor his whole life. If Sherlock wanted to keep him around, he know he had to make a move, and soon. Problem was, he was over thinking it, as he was prone to do. Especially with affairs that dealt with emotions.

All of these thoughts were running through his head as he began taking off his rain drenched clothes, and saw that John was doing the same. Sherlock decided to watch him out of the corner of his eye and mirrored the good doctor’s actions. First came the jacket. Each button was pushed back through the hole in the thick wool material that defended well against the London fog, and even in a bit of a drizzle. However, the heavy rain had drenched completely through the material, and Sherlock could see that the shirt underneath had also gotten wet. But John was not going to strip in front of him, in the entry of the flat. He was too modest for that.

John hung up the jacket on the peg, which hung by the door. “I’m just going to go up and change into something a bit dryer. Can you ask Mrs. Hudson to put the kettle on? A nice cuppa would do wonders right now.”

Sherlock nodded absentmindedly as he was still pondering over the problem at hand. Making sure John stayed with him. He didn’t know what he would do if the doctor ever left him, left Baker Street. He didn’t want to admit it. In fact, just thinking about his dependence on John made him hate himself even more, but the fact was there. He needed John in his life. Actions needed to be taken to keep him from leaving. 

A plan formulated in his mind while he walked up the stairs to the main rooms. “If I can just appeal to the thoughts he already has developed...” He mused to himself as he kicked off his shoes and squishy socks just inside the doorway. 

“Mrs. Hudson!” He called out. “Can you put the kettle on? John wants a cuppa.” He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he heard her scuffling around in her apartment.

“I’m not your housekeeper, Sherlock. Can’t you figure out how to make tea with that intellect of yours?”

“I could figure it out, but I simply feel that my talents are put to better use. And you make it so well, I would hate to put you out of a hobby.”

Mrs Hudson made a sort of tisking noise, but went about heating the water. Sherlock smiled in satisfaction as he glanced around the room quickly to see that John was not back from changing yet. Good. That gave him a few moments to work out the finer details. 

His legs seemed to pace across the room of their own accord as he planned it out. But there was a giant piece of uncertainty. How was John going to act? Sherlock hated uncertainty, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

John would be here any moment now. He was fast when it came to changing outfits. Probably some left over training from the military or something like that. The top two buttons of his shirt came quickly undone as he made his way to his chair. He sat down just as he saw John enter the sitting room out of the corner of his eye. 

“That didn’t take very long.” Sherlock mused, grabbing the nearby copy of that days paper. 

“No, it usually doesn’t...Aren’t you planning on changing? You will catch a cold if you sit in soaked clothes for too long. Even you ought to have hung on to that bit of information.” John said as he looked disapprovingly at the detective. 

“Sherlock! Are these your socks laying here? Honestly, it is like you think a maid lives here!” Mrs. Hudson said as the tea tray was carried into the flat. “I have said it before, I am not your housekeeper, nor your mother. But clean up your laundry!”

Sherlock waved her off dismissively and put his feet up on the footstool. 

“Don’t worry about it Mrs. Hudson. I’ll clean it up. Though the least his lazy arse could do, is to do it himself.” John said, looking at Sherlock to make sure he had been heard. 

“”Yes, fine. I’ll pick up my socks.” Sherlock jumped up and grabbed the dripping socks from the floor, only to drop them on the kitchen floor. “There. Now no one has to complain about the wood floor being damaged or whatever excuse you come up with.” He sat back down, fluffing the newspaper to begin reading it again. 

He heard Mrs. Hudson give a huff and set the tray down harder than necessary. “Yes thank you for that. Now don’t you have other things to do?” Sherlock said without looking away from the paper. 

“Oh I will tell you what other things I am going to do young man...” She began before John put consoling hands on her shoulder. 

“Now you know how he gets sometimes. I’ll deal with him and you can go back to being Sherlock free for now. Ok?” John said, as he tried to defuse the situation a bit. 

“Yes, alright. But if he complains about the tea, I will give him something to complain about.” She said before turning and leaving the flat. 

“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?” John said, turning back towards Sherlock.

“Not really.” the detective began. “Have you ever wondered what exactly custard is made from? It is not like there are custard farms in the countryside. Should we investigate the properties of a box of powdered custard? I think there is one in the kitchen. That one that has been here from the previous residents in the back cupboard?”

Sherlock stopped himself from rambling on. He hated when his mouth kept talking. One of the unfortunate side effects of his personality when he was nervous. No matter how hard he tried, it always seemed to happen. 

“No Sherlock, I don’t really care what custard is made of. But I do care if you catch a cold. Now go change, or so help me I will do it for you.” John blurted out. 

Sherlock couldn’t help the mental smile at that comment. “Well I don’t feel like changing at the moment. I am quite comfortable in this outfit, and it will dry eventually.” 

“Don’t make me do this, Sherlock. I care about you, London needs you, and you are a right arse when you even have a case of the sniffles. I do not want you to have the flu. Now go change.” He barked. 

Sherlock folded the paper and put it beside him. “Can I get your medical opinion on something before I do that? It is something that has been bothering me lately. It looks as though it is healing properly, but another set of eyes would do some good I think.”

John was caught off guard at the change of topic. “Um, sure. Yeah I suppose. What is it?”

“Well, sometimes in my line of work I come across those willing to use less than humane measures to get what they want. Especially if it is vital information that I possess.” More buttons were worked out of their holes as he continued. “As you know I can be quite stubborn and usually refuse to give up the information unless it benefits me.”

Sherlock could see that John was intrigued in the least as he began walking closer having set down the kettle. “Do continue. But let me just say, I don’t like where this is going.” he said, coming to sit in his chair across from Sherlock. 

“Right. Well, if you recall. you presumed I was dead for two years. Have you ever wondered what happened during all those months? You have never asked, but I know you well enough to know you must have thought about it at least a few times.”

John took a sip of his tea. “You said you were taking out Moriarty’s network. I figured if I needed to know more than that, then you would tell me in your own time.” He shrugged dismissively. 

“You can’t give me that. I can see it in your eyes. You do want to know more. Well, part of your curiosity will be sated.” His shirt hung loosely off his shoulders now. “Part of that time, I had been captured by a certain group who wanted information. And would stop at nothing to get it.”

With a deep breath, he turned around and let the shirt drop to the plush rug below his feet. 

“Oh god. Sherlock, are those...? How many times?” John said in disbelief as he looked at the scars which crossed his friends back. 

“I lost count of how many. Thankfully they only broke skin a few times. So, are they healing well enough? It is difficult to see them for me, and I can’t tell if Mycroft was telling the truth. He always was the best liar.” He tried to lighten the mood a bit as he could feel the shock and anger from John. 

“Now is not the time to be making jokes.” John said, sounding pissed off as he shoved Sherlock’s shoulder to turn him back around. “You know, I really don’t care why you didn’t tell them what they wanted before they did this to you, I am sure you had your reasons as you always do. But what I truly don’t understand is why you went to Mycroft, and possibly other people about this and you didn’t trust me enough to talk to me. I am a bloody good doctor, and...”

“Because I didn’t want you to see anything that would make you worried over me, John! You say you care about me, well congratulations. You have made me care about you. Yes you heard right. I care about you too. The detective with no heart wants to protect his best friend from worry, and to not get entangled in dangerous matters.” 

“I have said this whole time that you have a heart.” John said quietly after a few moments. “It was you that chose not to believe me.”

“Are you upset with me?” Sherlock asked with trepidation. “I thought you would be furious.”

“Oh I am. But you don’t need me furious right now. You need me to see if there is anyway I can help you. That is what you asked, right? A doctor’s opinion?” 

“Yes, I suppose...” Sherlock said, a bit confused at John’s reaction. “So you are upset because...I didn’t tell you sooner? Is that what I am gathering?” 

John sighed as he looked over the scars again. “You nailed it on the head there Sherlock. As intuitive as ever. My god, who stitched these up? If they were stitched that is.”

“Stitching oneself up when under strict imprisonment and constant watch is rarely at the top of anyone’s list. Usually it is more about staying alive. Besides, it is not like they cared much about my well being. However, in their defense, they did make sure the cuts were not infected by the copious amounts of salt water they threw on me.” He attempted a laugh but it came out sounding strangled. 

“You don’t have to make light of the situation. I am seeing enough in front of me, have seen enough in war to know exactly what you went through. I’m sure it was hell. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t have help. From myself, or Mycroft, or anyone. You know we would have done so at the drop of a hat. Though I still would have been upset about you faking your death and not telling me. At least then, I would have been closer to those who did this, and been able to deal with them appropriately.”

Sherlock felt his heart swell over the comment his friend made, and knew it was made in full earnest. “You don’t have to worry about them anymore. They are all either dead or incarcerated for life now. I made sure of it.”

“Good. That’s good.” John said, his jaw clenched a bit. “But if you find just one that is still around, please do me the utmost favour and inform me immediately. Now it is time to be your doctor. Wait here, I need to grab a few things I keep on hand.” He made sure Sherlock understood before curtly nodding and going to grab his bag. 

As soon as John left, Sherlock sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. John was taking this a whole lot better than he could have imagined. Though he could sense the fury that resided under his collected exterior. It was something he always admired about his friend. No matter how bad things got, he could always be calm and collected. Another thing which carried over from the military. The biggest unanswered question now was, did John still like him now that he was disfigured? The answer to that would lie in the next part of the plan. 

"Alright, I have this cream that should at least lighten them up a bit, heal the skin a bit more. Do they hurt at times?" John said as he set down a jar of ointment on the table. "Sometimes wounds like that can hurt or ache with barometric pressure changes." 

"No, no they don't hurt anymore." Sherlock said, not meeting John's gaze incase his friend could read the lie in the statement." 

"That is good to hear. But if they do hurt, I have something for that as well." He set another item on the table. 

"John?" Sherlock said softly, suddenly seeming preoccupied with a loose thread on the chair arm. "Do you see me differently now?" 

"Do I see you...what do you mean by that?" 

"I mean, now that you know what I truly look like. The disfigurement. Does it appall you?"

John stood there thinking for a moment, a few times opening his mouth to speak, than thinking against it. Finally he answered. "I have seen some horrible wounds in my day. Yours are minor compared to some of them. I would be lying if I said yours affect me less than limbs belong blown off, because I didn't know those men and women. I know you. Which is why seeing the pain you went through hurts more. Do I see you differently? Most definitely. I see a man that went through something painful, and came out stronger on the other side. Though you could have left your stubbornness there." 

Both men laughed a bit. "So, you still find me...? I mean to say...you don't find me hideous?" Sherlock said hesitantly. 

"Of course not. Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? And besides, how attractive someone is goes deeper than what is on the outside. And inside you, there is a great man." John sighed and seemed to change direction of thought.  
"Now let me put some of this ointment on your back, and perhaps can heal them a bit more." 

"I can't let you do that John. I...I don't think I can let anyone touch me there. Ever." He frowned as he picked up his still wet shirt from the ground and began to slip it back on.  
"Forget I ever said anything..." He looked around for something to preoccupy himself with.

"Take that shirt off. For one it is still wet, and two, you asked for medical help. And I am offering it. No, actually right now I am demanding that you allow me to help you." 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and turned to his friend. "You are asking me to trust you completely...I don’t think...” He closed his eyes tightly and fell silent for a moment. 

John took the opportunity to remove the shirt, once again letting it drop to the floor. “Mrs. Hudson would kill us both if she knew we had puddles on her wood floor.” He said with a chuckle. 

“She never has to know. It will dry eventually, and if it does leave a stain, simply purchase a new rug or something.”

“Would you be more comfortable sitting in your chair rather than standing?” John asked quietly and saw Sherlock give a bit of a nod. “Alright then. Sit sideways, that way I can get the cream on properly.” 

Sherlock did so and sat as still as a statue as he waited with great trepidation. He heard John moving around behind him, then felt him close to his back. 

“I’m going to be as gentle as I can, but I promise this wont hurt. At least not physically.” he said just before his fingertips brushed over one of the scars. 

Sherlock couldn’t help but lurch forward in an unconscious move. “Sorry... I just.. I can’t do this. I can’t bring myself to let even you touch me. I am broken.” 

John sighed. “Sherlock. You have to trust sometime in your life. At least one person. Why not trust me? You know I am not going to hurt you, I try to help you in fact. Even when you are being a total cock. You need to let me do this. For both kinds of healing. You need to move past this.” He stopped for a moment. “I think I spend a bit too much time with that therapist, but what I am saying is still true.”

They both sat in silence for a moment. Sherlock thinking and John simply waiting. Until Sherlock launched himself out of the chair. “Nope. I’m sorry. I want to. But I can’t. Why don’t we talk about you for a bit, John. We are talking far too much about myself. Perhaps I should give Mycroft a call. I haven’t annoyed him for a couple days at least. But first I will change out of these wet trousers so I don’t catch a cold. As instructed by my doctor.” Sherlock quickly went to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Leaving John staring after him in a mixture of shock and disbelief. 

“Well then...” he said to himself as he cleaned off the cream he had put on his fingers, and then gathered up Sherlock’s discarded, wet clothing. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock was sitting with his back to the door, trying to calm himself back down. He rebuked himself for being so stupid, and letting his mind get the better of him. That was never supposed to happen. He had to be in control of his faculties at all times. Besides, it was just John. His best friend. In his head, the logical part of him, he knew what John said was right. He would not hurt him. But when John touched his back just then, his mind immediately went back to the torture. And he couldn’t seem to help it. To top all that off, his experiment was falling apart before him. 

“Focus Sherlock.” He told himself. “The objective is to not loose John. Part of that is letting him feel needed. And he feels needed when he is looking after someone. You need looking after. Let him help.” He repeated the cycle to himself a few times before getting up from the floor and finally getting rid of his wet trousers. He looked around for something to put on, and finally settled on the bedsheet that was rumpled at the end of the bed. That would work. Wrapping it around himself, he walked back out into the sitting room. 

“John, I....I am not sure how to say this, I am not good at this whole feelings thing that you seem to push me further towards...” He turned to see John in his chair, listening expectantly. 

“Yes, do go on.” John urged as he waited for the inevitable subject change that came when the detective talked about feelings. 

“What I am trying to say is...I need my doctor to tend to my wounds. And I don’t know how to let him do that.” A confused look went across his face as he looked at the ground for a moment.  
“You picked up the clothes. And mopped up the puddles. Mrs. Hudson will be appreciative you did that.”

“Sherlock, we are not changing the subject this time.” John said with a sigh. “Yes of course I will help you. You already know this. But in order to get anything accomplished, we have to stay on topic. Now, sit down.” 

Sherlock looked about ready to say something defiant back, but saw the no nonsense look on John’s face and decided against it as he shuffled over to the couch and flopped himself lengthwise. 

“Laying down works as well I suppose.” John said as he walked closer to sit on the coffee table. “Now, you have to get over this fear of being touched on your back. Which I know is easier said than done. The only thing I can think of is to distract you well enough. At least for this time. Perhaps in subsequent times, it will get easier for you to deal with it. Understood?” 

The detective nodded and looked at him in a manner John could only later describe as a childlike innocence. “Alright. What do you have in mind? You know I don’t distract easily.” Sherlock said as he sat up. 

“We need to get you doing multiple things at once. Complicated things, or things requiring memorization. I don’t know. What do you suggest? Don’t you know yourself well enough?” 

Sherlock thought for a few moments. “Alright, I need the telly, one of my medical journals. I don’t really care which one, your rubix cube, and the front windows open. That should at least be a good start.” 

He sat there while John, confused about the requests, went about gathering the items and opened up the windows. “There. Is that all you need?” He said, setting the items down on the coffee table. 

“Like I said. A good start.” Sherlock said as he opened up the medical journal to a random page, turned the telly on to the news, and handed John the rubix cube. “Mix it up well for me. If I do it, I will only remember the pattern and it will prove useless.” 

“I know this may be an ignorant question to ask, but what exactly are you going to be doing with all these things?” John asked as he turned the multi-colored cube around, turning the squares this way and that. 

“It isn’t obvious? Are you really that thick? Right, sorry. I keep forgetting. I am going to be solving the cube, while simultaneously memorizing this graphic right here,” he said pointing to the detailed picture of a human’s nervous system in the journal. “Additionally, I am going to be listening to the conversations outside the window as people pass by on the street, and memoizing the news stories as they air on the telly. Hopefully, and this comes with much more uncertainty than I would like, all of that will distract me enough for you to do whatever it is you need.” Sherlock finished rattling it all off and looked at John. “What do you think? Will it be enough?”

“It is hard to say. I don’t think anyone can know how your mind works. But if I can just get a few minutes then it will all be over. You ready?” John said, setting the now very jumbled Rubix cube on the table next to the book. 

Sherlock looked lost for a moment then came back to the present. “I suppose I am ready as ever.” He turned and looked solemnly at his friend. “If I tell you to stop. You must do so immediately. I will try to preoccupy myself as long as possible, but I don’t know if this is going to work. Do you promise me?”

“Yes of course I do. Now quit stalling. Slip that bedsheet off your back and sit forward. From there you can go ahead with the memorizing and listening and all that. Forget I am even here.”

Sherlock nodded as his fingers wrapped around the rubix cube as he began to piece it back together. His eyes scanned over the medical journal as he began committing it to memory. All the while, he listened to the newscaster drone on about some traffic jam, as well as the man playing the saxophone just down the street. 

John sat as still as he could so he didn’t throw Sherlock out of the stimulant cocoon he was creating for himself. He would give him just a few more moments before starting. He couldn’t help his eyes wandering over the red marks and the other faded marks on his friends back. He would almost stake his medical career on some of the deeper ones being made with a leather flogger tipped with sharp metal. It pained him to think about what Sherlock had gone through, but at least now he was trying to let John help him. 

A rather large group walked down Baker street a few moments later, and their many conversations floated up from the street and through the open windows of the flat. John knew it would be the best time for him to move forward as he knew the detective well enough to know that each conversation would be attempted to be isolated and catalogued. It was a now or never moment. 

Slowly and as silently as possible, he gathered some of the ointment on the tips of his fingers and spread it lightly over the red areas of the scars. The places that were not healing correctly on their own. It made John wonder for a moment if there were shards of metal or other material that were lodged under the skin, making it irritated and not able to properly heal. 

He managed to cover one of the marks when he felt and saw his friend tense up, so he immediately pulled his hand away and stopped for a moment. He waited, not knowing if he should say anything. Thankfully he didn't have to. Sherlock relaxed again, and reached out to flip the page of the journal to memorize a second diagram. When John felt as if he was sufficiently distracted again, he continued. Thankfully Sherlock did not seem to notice. 

It didn't take the doctor but 5 minutes in total to care for his friend. He sat back against the couch, wiping his hands on the legs of his trousers. "Sherlock, I'm finished." 

The detective seemed startled, knocked out of another world for a moment before his eyes focused on John. "Right. Good." He began to pull the bed sheet back over his shoulders. 

"You have to let it dry. Don't cover it up just yet. Air flow will speed it along." John said quietly as he tugged the sheet back to the couch. 

"You're right. Of course." Sherlock couldn't meet his friend's gaze. "So. Now that you know of my...deformity. Does that change your mind about me? Are you going to find someone that is more...perfect? Even though, logically, human perfection is not an obtainable goal. I'm fairly the closest that you can get to such a definition, yet I fall short in a number of ways. But if you want to meet someone else, I can understand." 

"Stop that right now. You always think that people are going to walk out on you for the stupidest reasons. Usually ones that are self defribicating. Get it through your thick head that people actually do care about you. Despite you seeming to be shoving us away as often as you can. Somehow, we can't help but band together to make a sort of disfunctional family to surround you with anything you need. And we are not going anywhere. The least of all myself." 

Sherlock searched John's face and found evidence of nothing beyond truth laying there. "You truly do mean that..." He said with surprise and a hint of wonder at the idea.

"I truly do. As your friend, I don't want anything to happen to you. Physically or emotionally. And as your doctor, if something does happen, I want you to be able to let me know so I can help. Starting with previous injuries." 

Sherlock looked away so John wouldn't see his eyes beginning to glisten with tears. A thought came to his mind of how to show John what that all meant to him. But he would have to act quickly. He spun back around, placed his hands on the doctor's cheeks and kissed him as best as he knew how. After a moment he pulled away to see the question in John's expression. 

"That's what people do right? To show gratitude?" Sherlock asked, worried to hear the reaction. 

"I suppose some people might. If they have certain feelings for the person whom they are ahowing gratitude towards." 

Sherlock nodded. "And I suppose now is as good of a time to tell you that..I may have..developed feelings of a certain nature towards you as of late. But if it is something which you do not reciprocate than they can easily be forgotten and discarded." 

"You clod. Of course I do. You haven't seen that with all of your deduction skills before? I'm not that unreadable, am I?" John answered.

"Actually no. You are quite transparent. However, not being skilled in this area, I wasn't sure what exactly to look for to begin my deduction." 

"Deduce this, Sherlock." John said as he leaned forward and returned the kiss. "Now what do you think about my feelings?" 

"I would say this has been a fruitful afternoon." Sherlock said with a smirk. "And hopefully one which can continue to be so." 

"I agree completely." John said, reaching over to hold Sherlock's hand. "Now. I'm curious as to how much you retained from the telly, journal and the outside conversations. Go on. Show off like I know you enjoy doing." 

Sherlock's eyes twinkled with excitement. "Alright then..."


End file.
